I'm With You
by FeelTheLight
Summary: George Weasley meets and falls for Sophia, a muggle girl escaping an abusive ex boyfriend. She desperately wants the past to stay buried, unfortunately that is not the case. Will she be able to keep her life with George? Not to mention, he has to pass inspection from her very intuitive cat.


A/N: I have no excuses, except I was afraid to go on. I'm rewriting and uploading, but I will not delete this again. I'm so sorry. This story has stuck to me and it will be written. The previous version had Fred Weasley dead, but I want him alive. Please give a read. I will post the next chapter, but will be on vaction out of the country. If you want to stick with this thank you very much, if not I understand.

Prologue

There are no ordinary cats-Collette

I recollect all of this while lying in a puddle of my own blood. You should also know that this is not being told in a fit of hysterics, but in peace; how else would I explain a story that, of course, has a happy ending? You're probably wondering, what do you mean "happy"? Aren't you dying? Well, yes but it's all for the sake of a job well done. The happy ending that was mentioned is mostly in reference to Sophia, the woman I have sworn to protect and George the man I was demanded to protect.

Being slight of build and stature you must be thinking, He couldn't protect anyone. Oh but you're wrong. For starters, I can climb the highest places and hide in the tightest of crannies. Not to mention, I can see in the dark. I happen to know that humans can't do that naturally.

This was my very first case and instead of solving it on my own with my partner, Hastings, (that isn't his real name but for this it might as well have been) I needed the help of this George fellow, and to top it all off I'm bleeding to death. My namesake, Hercule Poirot, didn't die after his first case; so you can imagine that my pride has taken a beating and that is a far worse kind of pain.

In hindsight I should have seen this coming-no one ever gets to bury their pasts completely. You'd be surprised at how much time we'd save if we'd just look over our shoulders.

My origin, as far as when I came into this world, is of no importance. Let's skip ahead three years away from the scrawny, flea ridden wretch to the less discontented fairly plumper feline that resided at an enchanted pet shop. I say less discontented and not happy because it wasn't a home, just a temporary shelter. The Magical Menagerie was a shop that had every animal you could think of; and an odd assortment of books that snapped and bit the poor shopkeeper many times. What was it with wizards and their bizarre texts?

Yes, I am fully aware of the magical and muggle worlds-anyway, it was a bustling day and I was looking about at the crushing crowd that spilled in and out of the store, trying to look adorable. In all seriousness I have been trying my best; it's just that no one wants a hairless cat. Looking up I noticed a familiar mound of curly hair; the woman's name was Hermione and she came here often to buy food for her cat Crookshanks.

"And this is the Magical Menagerie. I'm sure you'll find a cat here."

"Oh, I will." The accent from her companion was American, and from her wide-eyed wonder filled expression I could tell she was muggle.

Those green eyes tugged me closer to the bars of the cage. This was it. It was her. I was desperate for her to notice me; blowing this chance would be a sure way of never leaving this place. She was coming closer, my cage was on the bottom row. I gave a sharp meow.

"Was that you?" she whispered to the Persian above me to her left.

Another.

She looked down.

"Well, hello." Her voice was warm and soft like candlelight; she crouched before me and stuck her fingers in to scratch behind my ears. Her expert touch sent purrs erupting from my chest. "Oh, you're a gorgeous boy." Well, I couldn't argue there.

She resided in a small apartment above the antique shop where she worked; her landlady was a sweet old woman. Her sparse furniture was overshadowed by her immense book collection. It was while reading she came up with my name; I was inspecting a crawl space in her ceiling above the refrigerator, she had climbed and collected me and while wiping off the dust had said, "You're my own Detective Poirot." She sat me on the bed and had a thoughtful smile, "Hmm. . . Hercule." While settling into bed and reading along with her I found the name fitting. Were both inquisitive beings and, since finding Sophia, vow to protect when we are able. I only wish it hadn't become so literal.


End file.
